


A Debate About Wolves

by Amethyst97Skye



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cliffhangers, F/M, Romance, Short One Shot, Sorry Not Sorry, Wolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 05:31:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8832292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amethyst97Skye/pseuds/Amethyst97Skye
Summary: "Do you want it to die? I’ll watch it burn, if you like.”





	

Solas was, deep down, and deep within, an affectionate soul, but he did not permit himself to indulge in the pleasures most hearts and minds took for granted. Tonight was a glaring exception.

“Say something,” he implored. It was selfish, he knew, but to hear her speak would offer him comfort enough to sleep.

“What do you want me to say?” she asked, sounding so very tired.

“Everything. Anything you like.”

For a while Solas busied himself with working the braids from her hair, finger-combing the thick tendrils of crimson-turned-obsidian silk as the firelight caressed their intermingling auras. A heavy exhale escaped her lips, bringing with it the heated gale of dark thoughts and darker desires; all were suppressed by a thoughtful _hmm_ , welcomingly warm with an icy exterior – or perhaps interior, Solas could not decide – and they took it in turns to present themselves until, finally, she spoke.

“I rather like wolves.”

“And why is that?” Solas humoured.

“They’re rather like me.” Solas disagreed. “They never seem to know what to do with themselves. I’ve seen them alone on the road, near death and in perfect health, but then I see them in their packs where they're enslaved in their freedom, cowering or fighting for their lives. They are very loyal creatures, but they have, I think, a terrible tendency to fight amongst themselves. Who is the strongest? The fastest? The smartest?”

She was not of a mind to know, or care, that Solas was nodding along to her every word, a sad smile scaring his lips.

“How do they know that the Alpha is truly the one who emerged victorious from the fight? They are very cunning creatures, and they fool the best of us. They even fool each other. Did he lose the fight? Or, did he throw it? Did he lose because he was weak? Or, was he weak because he wanted to lose?”

“I do not think wolves choose to lose on purpose, _da'len_.”

“That depends on your point of view. Does the strength of the wolf lie in the pack? Or, does the strength of the pack lie in the wolf? Which wolf, you say? I say every wolf, and every pack, too. We are a pack, are we not? We could fight all day about who the Alpha is, or who we _want_ the Alpha to be if it is not us, but we would only end up bloodied and broken, both in body and mind. Thedas needs the strength of the pack, and so, together, we will give them that.”

“You never ceased to amaze me, _da’len_ ,” Solas sighed, equal parts relieved and disquiet.

“And I keep telling you it – is not – intentional. I speak my mind as, and when, it pleases me. I had another point to make, but I’ve forgotten it. Something along the lines of inevitability, I think, but wolves are aware of the inevitable, are they not? They are shadowy things, but not because they are inherently dark, or because they are so benevolent to their family and merciless against their foes – I know they are both and neither of these – because they were born grey, torn between affliction and affection. They can only ever show one side of themselves at any one time, and, when standing, united, as a pack, they make for a terrifying sight.”

“The lone wolves are the worst,” she summarised. “Torn apart by pack and Pride, they have nothing left but a broken heart and a shattered mind. They cannot, no matter how they try, pick up the pieces alone, but woe to any selfless soul that might pause to help them. They would lose a hand, or an arm, maybe even their life, because the corrupted cannot pretend nearly so well as the corrupt. But it is not their fault that they fall so far and know not how to climb back up into the light.”

It was fortunate, for Solas, that she had not ask any question she considered worthy of a response. He could not have given one that would do them both justice.

“I rather think this is a bad idea,” she declared, long after Solas’ mind had settled into something that could be easily mistaken for content.

“What is, _da’len_?” Solas asked.

“…Us.”

“I know you fear intimacy, _da’len_ , but this is not that.”

“Not true intimacy, perhaps, but friendship is still intimate, and I’m not certain if you wish we could be more or wish that we could be content with less.”

Solas shook his head, suddenly weary. “You know not what you ask.”

“Yes, I do,” she insisted, turning in her corner of the sofa to face him. “But do you? Why do you call me ‘ _da’len_ ’ if not out of habit, having insisted many times I am less a child than most?” she pressed. When Solas gaped for words, not that he would ever admit to being rendered speechless, she smiled. It was deadly in its innocent beauty. “I told you wolves are cunning,” she warned, eyes alight with the flaming embers wafting freely, unchecked, from the dying fire.

“You are not a wolf.”

“Then… what am I?” she whispered, leaning closer, as if desperate for an answer. Any answer.

“You – You,” Solas chocked. “You... You are such a rare spirit. I have never met another quite like you.” The wonder and awe in his voice was echoed by the light in his eyes, which emanated from no discernible source.

Her own eyes watered, but she refused to let the tears fall. “And…” she breathed, rising to her knees to sit deceptively docile beside him, “you still owe me a kiss... _ma vhenan_.”

“I don’t think –” _Then don’t._

“There was no thinking involved last time, or, the time before that, nor was there any for the one that first sparked this fire. Do you want it to die? I’ll watch it burn, if you like.”

_Dirthara-ma._

**Author's Note:**

> Da'len = child.  
> Dirthara-ma = may you learn.  
> Ma vhenan = my heart.


End file.
